INTEGRATION (Bonfire Academy Book Two) (Bonfire Chronicles) (13 page)

He looked up at me, anger pouring from his eyes. “What the fuck, Cordelia? Why didn’t you stop the test? Letting her do this kind of injury to herself in her human form is inexcusable. I trusted you.” He held up her bandaged hand.

“Henri couldn’t get her out of her state; he’s really upset about it. We should probably let a doctor have a look at that hand. She won’t heal well in her human form.”

“I already had a medic look at it. I took her to my mom’s doctor.”

“Eh? In London? How did you manage to do that so fast?”

“Took her back in time,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Of course. So her hand will be okay?”

“She’ll need surgery, some reconstructive work as well. Her bones are broken.”

“You didn’t get that done?”

“No, I just got them to do the basics. The doctor said that the surgeon here could cope with the rest.” He turned back to Faustine and felt her brow, brushing her hair off her face with his fingers and tucking the loose strands behind her ears.

“Ryker, is this the first time you’ve rescued her before she transformed?”

“No. Remember? I did the same when she was attacked in the hallway.”

“Yes, but she was unconscious when you took her. I wonder if she’ll remember you taking her this time?”

“I doubt it. She was still in the alternative consciousness that you’d put her into for the test.”

Faustine’s eyes flickered, and she cried out in pain.

“Cordelia, give her this.” Ryker held up a couple of white pills. “Painkillers. I better make myself invisible. I’ll be watching, but take care of her.”

I nodded as Ryker bent over Faustine and kissed her forehead before fading from sight. His tender gesture almost brought tears to my eyes. He really loved and cared for her. Like Quinn did me.

Faustine cried out again. She opened her eyes and focused on me. “Cordelia, what happened? My hand is on fire.”

“Here, swallow this.” I slipped the pills Ryker had given me into her mouth. “They’ll dissolve if you hold them on your tongue for a couple of seconds. They’ll probably make you fall asleep.”

She nodded.

“It may take a while to work. You’ll heal better if you transform.”

She closed her eyes and scrunched up her face. Then she opened her eyes again, despair flooding from them, and shook her head. “I can’t! I tried. I just can’t.”

That sucked. She just wasn’t trained well enough yet to harness it at will. She was almost there and could do it when she was in control of herself. The pain must have been interfering. I watched her writhe around in pain, feeling utterly helpless. Ryker must be beside himself seeing her in this state. I had to do something—even if I totally hated doing what I was about to do. I called Octavia. I had no idea if her blood would heal Faustine as it had Jagger. The visual almost made me puke.

“Cordelia?” Octavia’s voice was higher than usual.

I bet she was shocked to hear from me. It had to be a cold day in hell for me to have called her after what she had done with Jagger. I decided to keep it short and formal. “I need you to come to my room. Faustine is injured. We need your blood.”

“On my way.”

I walked over to Faustine’s bed; she was out cold. I perched next to her, rubbing her forehead. I noticed that the bandage around her hand was seeping blood and wondered if it had been a good idea for Ryker to have time travelled all over the place with her in this wounded state.

Ryker appeared by my side, his forehead beaded in pearls of sweat. He looked at Faustine and shook his head, despair written all over his face. “Jeez, Cordelia. This is awful. What can I do?”

“Nothing. Octavia is on her way. You should make yourself scarce, but stick around in case I need you.”

“Like I’d leave,” he muttered and faded away.

Octavia arrived moments later. She walked straight over to the bed as soon as I let her in. “What happened?”

“Don’t ask. It’s her hand; it’s worn through to the bone. Can you help? Does vamp blood work on demons?”

“No, not on demons. But it works on humans, so let’s hope for the best.” She exposed her sharp incisors and sank them into her own wrist, gnawing at it until blood flowed. Then she put her arm up against Faustine’s mouth. “Drink.”

“Blech! What is that?” Faustine shook her mouth off Octavia’s wrist, opening her eyes and glaring in disgust.

“Don’t be silly, Faustine! Drink. It’ll make you better.” Octavia pinned Faustine’s head back with one hand and then shoved her wrist back onto Faustine’s mouth.

Faustine’s eyes widened in horror, and she struggled to free herself from Octavia’s grip, unsuccessfully, until she transformed. Her transformation was almost instantaneous, and she sent Octavia flying into the wall. Octavia slid down the wall and fell flat on the floor, writhing in agony. I couldn’t help but smile. Karma. But then I shook myself. Octavia had only been trying to help. I pulled Octavia up and helped her to a chair, while Faustine—in her full demon form—looked around, bewildered.

“Faustine, stay like that. Don’t transform back.” I walked over to the kitchenette and grabbed the selection of steaks Ryker had thoughtfully brought with him. “Here, eat, and then go back to slee—”

She practically yanked my arms out their sockets grabbing the meat from me. Sheesh. She proceeded to gulp them down, drooling while she did so. This from the princess who complained about a bit of pus? Ha!

I watched her chomp, chew, and swallow, wondering how she’d react when she got to the last piece. I felt a warm breath by my ear.

“In the kitchen,” Ryker mumbled.

I got up and went to find out what he wanted from the kitchen. Lying on the counter was a fresh selection of meats. Good boy. He must have popped over for more. I got back to Faustine just in time to see her gulp down her last piece. She eyed my hand hungrily, and I practically threw the tray at her before she got any ideas of devouring me.

Two cows later, she seemed to have calmed down and put away the tray. I was concerned she’d revert to her human form. “Faustine, I hope you’re feeling better. Stay in your demon form. You’re too injured to turn back into your human form just yet. Lie down and sleep.” I held my breath, hoping that I had gotten through to her.

I was relieved when she lay back and closed her eyes.

“Oh, my,” Octavia muttered.

I had completely forgotten about her. I turned and glared at her. Just because Octavia tried to help heal Faustine didn’t mean I had to like her any better. She’d better not be dissing my friend.

Octavia returned my look and topped it with an eye roll. She got up and walked out the door.

I didn’t feel the least bit remorseful; she totally deserved my anger. However, I was happy that Faustine had been so disgusted by the vampire blood that she’d transformed.

I turned to tuck her in, but Ryker beat me to it. He stood over her, looking down at the sleeping demon with the same love and concern as he had when she’d been the beautiful human version. Any fears that she might have had that he’d be grossed out by her were completely unfounded. I wondered if he was frightened by her powers, though. He should’ve been; even I was.

“Hey! What’s going on? I just ran into Octavia on the way up, and she is fuming.” Jagger crossed the room and peered down at Faustine. “Transformed during her session? Hey, Ryker.”

I shook my head. “Not exactly.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you going to tell me, or are you evoking the confidentiality thing?”

“Of course not, like I’d do that with you. I’ll tell you later. First, tell me if you found Quinn.”

“That’s what I was coming to talk to you about. I’ve looked everywhere; I even went to the skydiving facility. No one has seen him. Any ideas?”

I rubbed my neck.

“Let me do that,” Jagger offered, moving behind me and putting his hands on my shoulders. “Your back is in knots.” He gently massaged my muscles, relieving some of the tension.

“No, I’ve got no idea. If it weren’t for the fact that he missed picking up Faustine, I wouldn’t be the least bit worried. It’s just so unlike him to miss something like that without letting anyone know. He didn’t even send me a text or anything. I hope he’s okay, that Mason—”

“Mason has been with me all morning. And he’s at classes now. Plus Mason is no contest for Quinn,” Jagger said.

“I know, but he may have people working with him. That haiku was left by someone else,” I reminded him.

He moved around to face me. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know. Can you stay here with Faustine? I want to go look for him.”

“Where? If you tell me, I can do it.”

“Please. I need to do it. I may be able to pick up his scent or something. I don’t know. I just feel that I know him better.”

“That you do.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “Okay. Go. I’ll stay here with Faustine until you get back. Is there anything I need to know?”

“I’ll fill you in,” Ryker offered.

“Thanks, Ryk.” I turned to leave, but Jagger grabbed my arm and turned me around.

“Cordelia, be careful.”

T
he day had begun with a looming dark cloud hanging over me because I had promised myself that I would come clean to Quinn about Jagger. While I’d envisioned a hundred different ways of breaking the news to him, the end result was always the same. The cloud descended over us both and closed in around my neck, squeezing every last breath out of me.

Faustine’s session had been a welcome relief, postponing the inevitable, allowing me a few extra moments of calm. As I walked through the quiet stone-clad corridors toward Quinn’s room, I wondered if it would be better if I found him, so I could finally get to what I absolutely had to do. Or would it be better if I didn’t, giving me more time? Time to procrastinate and worry. In fact, I’d probably go nuts with worry because, no matter what, I cared deeply for Quinn. I always would. The thought of him being in danger because of Mason’s issues with Faustine and me was unbearable. I kicked myself for having postponed telling him about Jagger and me for so long. If I had, he’d have dumped me and had nothing further to do with the whole Mason mess anymore.

I was suddenly filled with angst, imagining him dead, shredded to pieces by a rabid bird. I practically ran to his room and knocked on the door. As expected—Jagger had already told me he’d checked his room—there was no answer. I rapped on the wooden door again just to make sure then I put my ear to it, straining to hear any sounds. I didn’t hear any noise at all, so I put the spare key he’d given me into the lock and turned it as quietly as I could, listening for the clicking noise. Holding my breath, I turned the knob and gently pushed the door ajar. I stood for a minute, waiting to see if anyone was on the other side. I pushed the door a bit more and kept going until it was fully open. The room was empty, so I walked in and closed the door behind me. I still had to check the bathroom.

His room was spotless; even his bed was made. The pillows were plumped and stood against the headboard the way Quinn always insisted—even when he stayed over with me. I walked to the bathroom door and, holding my breath, pushed it open with one finger. I relaxed when all that greeted me was the smell of bleach. The bathroom was neat, but not spotless. The shower had been used, and a rumpled towel lay on the floor outside the stall. I knelt to feel it; the towel was dry.

I walked back out into the bedroom and sat down on Quinn’s bed. There were no signs that he’d left the room in a hurry or had been forced out of it—no broken furniture, no signs of a struggle. I ran my hand over the stretched sheet, frustration washing over me. It was strange and annoying that he’d taken the time to make his bed, yet not bothered to call to let me know that he wouldn’t be able to pick up Faustine. Had he simply forgotten? Or had he gotten up, made his bed, and then been called away on urgent business? Had something happened to his family? Whatever had happened, he’d left the room of his own free will.

I got up and walked into his closet. I pulled the cord to switch on the overhead light and immediately noticed that his lime green suitcase was missing. It always stood in the same place, under his tux. The tux still hung on the rod, but the bag was gone. I scanned his clothes. There was no way for me to tell what he’d actually packed because his closet was in its usual messy state. Quinn hadn’t quite worked out the purpose of hangers, preferring to throw his clothes into various designated piles on the floor—one for his shirts, one for pants, and so on.

I picked up one of his shirts and smelled it, almost feeling his presence as I did so. His aroma immediately relaxed me and, closing my eyes, I imagined him grinning at me, his perfect white teeth twinkling.

I smiled as I remembered the first time I’d met Quinn, at school in Paris. We were both six years old and ready to learn to mingle with the human kids. Quinn’s family had just arrived in Paris and moved in a few blocks away from my house on the Avenue Foch. During our orientation at the school, our mothers told us to be friends. We stuck our tongues out at each other, silently vowing to be enemies, no matter what our parents demanded. As if reading my mind, my mom pulled me aside and, in no uncertain terms, let me know that she expected me to respect her request unless I wanted to forgo new clothes for the next decade. I had relented, still swearing inwardly that I would hate Quinn in private. I couldn’t be friends with a silly boy when I needed to get in with the popular girls! I tried to get him to leave me alone at school, but he just wouldn’t, seeming hell-bent on making my life miserable. We spent most of our first week goading and annoying each other, each aiming to get the other into trouble with the teacher. But we quickly worked out that it was more fun to create mischief together. We discovered how alike we were and figured out that we could cause twice as much trouble working together.